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“I’m not.” Her green gaze softened, even as her smile morphed into a smirk. “Do you know why we didn’t work out, Jake?”
Oh fuck, this was a trap. No longer nice. Abort, abort.
I cleared my throat and squinted. “Uh… I recall somethin’ about me not caring enough. Your words.”
She pursed her lips. “About me. When we were together, everything was fine. The food was all right, you chuckled at my jokes, the sex was good, you let me drag you out to clubs… We never fought—you walked out when you thought I was too heated.”
I could probably not look more confused. What the hell was wrong with all that?
Her eyes twinkled with humor. “But I’ve seen you laugh till you had tears in your eyes, Jake. I’ve heard you groan because the food was so good you didn’t know what to do with yourself. I’ve listened to you talk so animatedly about photography and filmmaking. I’ve been there when you’ve reworked your whole schedule to squeeze in another project you’re passionate about.” She reached up and touched my cheek. “It just wasn’t with me. Roe gets you that way.”
Oh.
I swallowed and furrowed my brow.
“I’ve listened to your podcast, you know,” she murmured. “Ever since you started doing the live morning shows, I’ve tuned in on my way to work—and you just can’t stop talking to each other. He’s unlocked something in you. It’s a good look. And I want that for myself with someone.”
But was she implying— “That’s work, Nikki. We work together. We’re passionate about work.”
She chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to my jaw before stepping back. “If you say so.”
I raised my brows. “Uh—you don’t get to walk away after sayin’ that. What do you mean?”
Did she think there was something else between Roe and me? Fucking ridiculous.
I could honestly say I loved Roe. I thanked my lucky stars every goddamn day he’d run after me into that coffee shop to tell me about his idea for a final project, but that was it. He was my best friend. The brother I’d always wanted. My chosen family.
Nikki sighed, and I didn’t like the sympathy in her eyes. Was she pitying me or something? What the fuck was going on?
“Do you remember your first reaction when I told you about Derek?”
I didn’t know what her best friend had to do with this. He was gay. So what?
“I said I wanted to introduce you to Derek and his boyfriend,” she went on, “and you looked downright horrified and said, ‘No, that’s wrong.’ It happened so quickly—and you caught yourself. You changed your answer. You apologized and played it off. You said you were fine with it and wanted to meet them. But something made you react so strongly before you could compose yourself.”
Colin smacked into me, wanting up, so I positioned him on my hip while my mind reeled. I shouldn’t have fucking come into the kitchen. It had been a trap.
“And don’t forget that I’ve met your parents, Jake.”
As if I could. We’d flown out when she’d been pregnant.
“Dada, cuh! Cuh? Cuh, Mama!”
I swallowed uneasily and functioned on autopilot to pour water into Colin’s sippy cup, and I gave it to him. Then I flicked Nikki a glance and couldn’t help but wonder if she knew something I didn’t. Had my mother talked to her when I hadn’t been around?
That worried me much more than her delusions about my sexuality.
In fact, that part was laughable. I’d never been attracted to a man.
But my mother was off-limits. I’d been on edge that whole trip.
“We keep quiet, my darling…we keep quiet. That’s wrong. So wrong. Shh, just keep quiet, Jake.”
“Jake! I need your help!” That was Roe.
Nikki smirked faintly. “Saved by the bell.”
Funny, I didn’t feel saved. I felt sick.
*
The light was on in there…
Abandoning my plan to dig a hoodie out of one of the moving boxes, I peered into the room Roe had worked on the most today. Our podcast studio and office. His own bedroom seemed secondary.
No one was in here now, so I trailed over to the window to turn off the lamp—when I noticed the whiteboard on the wall. Roe had already scribbled something on it. Christ, our following on social media. He liked to keep track.
I stood right in front of the whiteboard and stared at the numbers.
A lot of it was Haley’s work. She’d become such an integral part of our business. Every day, she sent us a text about what she needed. What kinds of photos she wanted for Instagram, what sort of message she wanted to put out into the world under our names.
Haley knew strategy. Roe created content. I documented.
“I want you to memorize these numbers, Jake. Two thousand followers on Instagram, three thousand followers on Twitter, twelve thousand likes on our Facebook page—and tomorrow, we start our podcast. This is it, man. Shit’s gonna explode from here on out.”
